See ya, 2011. Hello, 2012.

2011 is about to say sayonara and here I am posting a blog post about it. Should I be out and about ushering in the new year?

Fuck no.

I am perfectly happy to sit at home, watch TV and be with my family. This time tomorrow, I'll be back in Singapore. The sadness is still there, even packing my new Uniqlo cotton socks is starting to make me feel melancholy.

But I'll be back. I know I will.

2011 has been an emotional roller coaster. I experienced some decent highs and the lowest of lows in recent memory. I'm not going to go all retrospective as the nostalgia will make me wish I had a hanky.

I shall bid you adieu and I hope your last day of 2011 will be a blast. As for 2012, well, let's hope that movie's prophetic moment does not come true.

Happy New Year.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Beginning next year (tomorrow) some changes shall take place in this blog. Nothing major but you'll notice it. I hope.

R.I.P Gary Speed

When I opened the Daily Mail a few days ago, the first article that came up was the news of Gary Speed's passing. 

To say it was shocking would be a terrible understatement. 

Total disbelief filled me. I sat, hunched, over my tiny Macbook Air (this post was not paid for by Apple, sigh) staring at the screen for a good half minute*, thinking this was a terrible misprint. 

It wasn't. 

I never knew the guy, of course, but his passing did affect me after the article mentioned he committed suicide. When he was still a football player, there was no reported incidents of him causing debauchery on and off the pitch. He was always portrayed as the model footballer; dedicated to the game and utterly loving every minute of it. The word on his death is depression. Depression? This man had a glowing career as a player, is on the rise as manager of Wales, has a lovely wife and two children, yet, was apparently afflicted with depression. I can't even begin to fathom what the family is going through right now but I wish them well in their time of privacy. 

On the outside, all seemed well, but it seems the truth is far from that. It is really sad, no? You have the world in your hands yet to have such an illness coursing through your being, rearing its ugly head every now and then must be tormenting. When I get depressed, I shrug my shoulders and laugh it off. Even if it's something major, nothing will keep me dwelling on it for long. 

There is now a circular from the Football Association going around their members the effects of depression. This is a very good effort from them as depression can strike at anyone, regardless of their well-being. 

I've seen how mild depression can afflict a person and even then it was very difficult for me to help this person who happens to be a dear friend. It's saddening and the helplessness of it all is something I wish upon no-one.

Football has lost a talent but it's his family that will feel the lost the most. My heartfelt condolences go out to the Speed family. 

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. I apologise if there is some satire in this post. I originally intended for this to be a rather sombre and serious affair but I've always viewed death as a time of reflecting and celebrating one's life, mourning can be done in private.

*The last time I did that was because I was looking at my current crush, Gillian Jacobs, from the brilliant show, Community)

Marriage made in Hollywood.

Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore are no more (a pun, indeed).

Big surprise.

Kim Kardashian and some giant marry then divorce within months of getting hitched.

Big surprise.

The more outrageous, the more lavish, the more storm of press a wedding gets these days from Hollywood the more likely said wedding will have a chance of lasting about as long as me having to eat after a vigorous workout session.

About 30 minutes. And that's just me after an Arms session*.

I've always viewed marriage as committing yourself to someone that you love and cherish and will do anything to make your partner happy. "Get married for the right reasons" is what I've always maintained. What is with them and getting married after meeting for a week over cheap drinks and tapas? You know, when things are getting serious they'll start "shopping"** for a place together. A nest for them to come home to and roost.

Then, they break up after 2 months, citing incompatible ideals thus selling their pad for a cool couple of bucks. Well, millions are cool for them, mere mortals like you and I would be jumping for joy if we had a quarter of it.

Marriage in America is akin to their burgers; full of promise and wonder but ultimately loaded with fat and grease that you no longer want anymore.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Speaking of burgers, man, I want me one.

*If I do Back, Chest or Legs, it'll be 15 minutes. I kid you not.
**Honestly, celebrities "shopping" for a new place is depressing. It's as though they are shopping for socks.

It's been a while, no?

Wow, time has passed real quick. For one, I no longer am the emo bugger that used to well-up at the mere mention of "Family", "Malaysia", "Food". (I do well-up if I see my family's picture. Or when I see Malaysian food.) Last post of mine was in July. July! My goodness, I used to get all pissy and agitated if I didn't post something by the week and here I am, posting something 4 months later.

But, better late than never, right?

The reasons why I haven't been blogging:

• Work - Ever since I started work in Singapore, my once mundane work life is no more. 
• Gym - Lifting weights + After working hours + Late dinners = Massive mushy brain. 
• My English is crap - One of my favourite things in the world is to read. Sadly, and painfully to admit, reading has taken a back seat. A back seat all the way back of Chris's Bus of Things to Do. The free time that I had was either taken up by the PS3 or watching Arrested Development. However, I am happy to say that I am picking up books again and reading them. Yes, reading! And not just looking at the cover and wishing I was reading them but actual reading! With my eyes! Okay, enough of the abuse of !. Seriously, though, I find that my having not reading has deteriorated my English. When I read, I would check the grammar, the punctuations, and so on. Heck, even on Facebook I cringe whenever I post something as innocuous as a one-liner as it will inconceivably be grammatically wrong. I am happy to announce that I am starting to pick up reading again and it's a joy. Not to mention my grammar has somewhat been saved from the sharks of imbecility. 

I don't know when my next post will be but I hope it won't be four months down the road. I wish everyone well and stay beautiful!

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Yes, I've actually had to dumb-down my English here in Singapore. Can you believe that?

Holding on to what I haven’t got.

As I write this, the surroundings are getting more familiar. The sights and sounds of the things around me are starting to become second nature in my mind's eye. (Though, I must say that I wouldn't mind the damn birds disappear and never return. Preferably in the form of crispy chicken.) I am getting used to the things here; escalators escalating people at a pace that would make people back home tumble as they get off, buses braking with so much force that not holding to anything would lead to face on floor, putting tissue paper on to tables and then coming back to the table with the tissue and a place to sit and eat.

But I yearn for the comforts of home. My real home.

It's been a month since I left home to come to Singapore. I left because I wanted to take total control of my life and career. In terms of career, if I was still in Malaysia, I have enough experience to go quite far but I'd still be fighting to get the best parts of the job. Definitely not a good thing since I want to settle down in the next 3 years or so. So, I threw my resume to only one place and that one place grabbed it and hired me.

Sounds good, right? I thought so, too. But that was when my family and girl were still around. Nothing could've warned me of the roller-coaster of emotions I was going to endure. I had no clue whatsoever that the homesickness was going to be so profound. I never could have imagined that I would just shed tears whilst walking down to the bus stop to get to work because of the sorrow and heartache I was feeling. Even after a month, I still feel a void.

The day me and my family parted, I embraced them, said I love them very much and hopped into the train. The journey back to the apartment was the most emotionally numbing experience since the day my dad passed away. As each station whizzed by me, an abyss in my heart and soul came to be. I cried every time I saw them on Skype. In a strange twist of fate, I have come to love my family even more than I ever imagined. I am saving all my leaves so that I can come home and spend as much time with them as possible. Heck, I've bookmarked all the airlines and bus companies websites so that I can get a ticket and head home for the weekend.

The plan was for me and my girl to come here, to start anew and establish ourselves. Sadly, she's not here. Yet. And that pains me greatly. With family, you know you will have to leave them eventually and that wherever they are that's home. Being apart with my RM kills me. We have to keep reminding ourselves that this is temporary, that we will be together and the pain would be a distant memory. But it is the journey getting there that greatly hurts the soul. We are not giving up on her coming here, till then, we will have to travel back and forth every month otherwise the heart will suffer. It drains the bank account but it's something that needs to be done.

They say time will heal all wounds. I should know, I've used that numerous times. As corny as this may sound, love is keeping me sane.

If only love could pay some of the bills as well.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Also, I seem to keep abreast with Malaysian news more than I did. Curious, no?

All good things must come to an end...

...or does it have to be?

Life is short. We make choices every day that defines the present and shapes the future. The past? The past is like a bookmark that you can go back to, review what happened, and learn from it.

Never stop experiencing life because life is experiencing. 

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Judgement day was yesterday. Yeah, nothing happened. Pfft.

Sometimes, you've got to believe.

Last week was, man, a week to remember.

What a traumatising week.

Training had been so-so. What I had intended to do ended up being half-baked. Strangely enough, it was doing an unplanned training for biceps that gave me the boost and pump I had been chasing. Oh, well. Shit happens.

But that was only the beginning.

Running at full tilt down the busy streets in the Golden Triangle of Kuala Lumpur must've been a sight to behold. I reckon you'd do the same if you've realised that your wallet is missing. Tearing through the Suria KLCC mall was no fun. It was crowded and people had seemed to contrive in a highly secretive and tacit way to block my way at every turn I took. My family was with me and I told them what happened and they helped by enquiring with the mall's security for help.

My mind was racing through thoughts of my IC is going to be used in drug-related crime, I'd have to cancel all my cards and worst still was having to buy a new wallet as the wallet I had lost was pretty darn nice. While the family checked with security I ran back to the gym as there was the last place I had seen my wallet. But, I knew it wasn't there because I remember distinctively I took it out to keep back the gym card. Yet, I still ran as fast as I could, hoping for a miracle.

You know how things happen for a reason? Well, stopping to catch my breath, I was approached by this gangly Indian fellow. Of course, I became wary as I was in an area (I took the shortcuts I knew which meant I went through secluded areas) where thievery had been reported. Panting, short of breath I looked at him, thinking he was lost or asking for the time. It was neither.

Indian Fellow: Sir, you are _____
Me: What??! (I was preparing to run away)
Indian Fellow: Sir, you have a very lucky face and _____
Me: (Off sprinting) What the fuck! Fuck you, man!

Traffic was relatively well-behaved so it was all right for me to criss-cross in between cars. After running for what seemed like for eternity, with lactic acid building up and muscles aching after punishing my body earlier, I felt my mobile phone ringing. I looked up to the sky, yelled silently, and answered.

If the relief emanated from me was tangible it would have been the size of a (mini) bus. The call was from the bank, informing me that the mall security had my wallet and they were asking me if I wanted to block it, just in case. From there, I called my family about it and told them I'd see them soon. Walking back to the mall, I was in a stupor. A mixture of alleviation and anger simmered in me, how on earth could I have been so careless. Crossing the roads, with beads of sweat trickling down my face, making my way turtle-like as my legs had turned to mush, I was hit a realization. I literally stopped and stood still for a while. My mind played back everything and came to the part where I encountered the Indian fellow.

What did he mean when he said those things? How could he have known I was in dire straits? Was he the kind soul that found the wallet and returned everything? I immediately dismissed him as some good-for-nothing vagabond for proclaiming me as lucky as, at that time, had lost my identity. With even more langurous movements from my legs, I willed myself to walk quickly and reclaim what was lost.

Things always happen for a reason. Sometimes you don't realise it at first but when you do, it'll strike home. Whether or not you believe in miracles or the equivalent it's entirely up to you.

As for me, on that day, I believed.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. To the person who found it and did what you did, you have my eternal gratitude.

Great minds think alike. Greater minds don't dress alike.

I'll be as brutally honest as I can be: I absolutely, friggin' abhor couples who wear the same outfits. It is not cute. It is not clever. It is not something to be proud of. In fact, you and your equally sloth-minded partner should bury your heads in shame.

Matching outfits only work if both are blind.

I see this trend infecting young and old. The young tend to have upturned collars and wear shorts. The old wear something similar but may share the same set of dentures. Why do they do it? They say ignorance is bliss and if that's the case these yobs are as guilty as Charlie Sheen.

The only time couples are allowed to even wear the same outfit is if it's for an event that requires them to be dressed in uniform. Apart from that, lay off the matching leotards and sequined blazers. Please, do not harm the children.

You wouldn't catch me and my girl wearing the same outfits. Never, I tell you.

Now, where did I leave that blouse...

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Big news coming soon. Real soon.

Wow. It's been a while, eh?

What up, minions?

Oh, how time flies when your brain is nothing more than mush. I make no apologies for the absence, I just could not think of any worthwhile thing to say.

There is light, though. The brain is now "on" and I've a couple of things lined up in the coming weeks. Interesting times are abound, my friend.

But I must leave for now and return to my lair and meditate.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. This post was brought to you by Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood.

Japan, I heart you.

I may have yet to visit you but I'm sure I will some day. Till then my heart goes out to all who have perished, surviving and living.

The land of the rising sun shall arise again.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Funny how the Whites of the good ole US of A haven't had 101 concerts in support of this tragedy.
P.P.S. Where's Bono, by the way?

White supremacy does exist.

People either look at me like I am a leper or I have unsightly boils all over my body when I order food. Even the auntie at the mixed rice shop gets unhappy when I ask for less rice as though I have committed an unpardonable sin. But nothing beats the look of utter contempt I get when ordering black coffee from you know where. Conversely, when a wizened old man with a belly the size of Singapore comes in his short shorts and knee-high white socks questions what's in an ice-blended banana chocolate drink the same server will instantly stand upright and flash a smile worthy of being in a cheap Kodak pictorial for midgets.

Yes, I know I have spoken of the above in the past but I am revisiting this with a wider spectrum. Recently, after being acquired by hillbillies with better suits, the company I am in now has seen it fit that we should abandon our comfortable ways and embrace Americana. In an oily, greasy, cholesterol-packed way typical of their jumbo burgers, naturally. You see, partner (said in an accent that would make Jeff Bridges' character in True Grit nod in respect), the way has been set and the way shall be met. I don't know whether it was a lackadaisical almost bordering on whimsical err of character on some boss's part or the deadlines to accomplish certain tasks were given at such notice it threw everyone out of balance. Whatever the reasons are, the ball to get things rolling has started rolling, all right, but it's rolling at a pace that is flipping the panic buttons of some people with the Eject button being last resort lest they be crushed under the weight of (unjust) expectation.  

Asians have always been subservient to the wishes of the Whites, not West. People mistake the West as being the all-conquering but it is the Whites that still hold the trump card even when they don't know they have the trump card. You see, we Asians have been pandering and wanting to be like the Westerners for so long that everyone has become inured, numb from all the kowtowing and ball-licking of our forefathers that it's business as usual for the Asians to slog the night away trying to solve an issue. You want to go home at 5:30PM? Sure, go right ahead. But don't forget to look down and have tunnel vision because the stares of incredulity of going home on the dot will be thrown at you like daggers in the night. But, it it's in the UK or US, pray, tell me why we're still here? To the pub we go, amigos!

However, not all is gloomy. After decades of being mocked at for being dog-eating, infatuated with concubines and guilty of promoting rice bowls as apparatuses for haircuts China is now turning the tables on the Whites. Now it seems the Whites are very keen on expanding their businesses into the former Communist-loving country of a gazillion chicken feet dishes. India doesn't count because Indians are still universally looked down upon.

We have to be realistic, of course. The time of White supremacy is slowly coming to an end. A balance of power will emerge and things will be for the better. I am confident of it. Change won't come overnight. I might be able to see its birth but I doubt I'll see it growing up.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. For all of us who tirelessly make the lives of Whites easier, I raise my glass of cold water to you and salute. You deserve it.

Learn to walk, fool!

The weather was, if I'm being honest here, absolutely hot.

Wait, make that absolutely, mindbogglingly, friggin' hot.

The 3 days in Singapore proved to be a colossal marathon session that I didn't even sign up for. There are a lot of things that irk but nothing irked me more* in Singapore than the damn people's walking sense. Yes, walking sense. I was bumped, smashed, knocked, by people of all ages. Yes, even a child would walk right into me but thankfully I averted my course in the nick of time because the child's trajectory was heading straight to the nebula that is my crotch.

One of the biggest pet peeves has to be people walking whilst reading. I know reading is good for you but have some common sense. When you're intensely reading the latest gossip surrounding that Bieber thing you inadvertently walk right into my path. I swerve to the side, shoot you a scowl worthy of being called Scottish, yet you walk on by reading about that Bieber thing.

I don't get it when people walk up the escalator when the staircase is empty and is yours to frolic about if it pleases you. No, you expect me to move aside, with nary a polite muttering of Excuse Me and you have the courtesy to hit me from behind with your large buttocks. Use the stairs, moron. Your hamstrings and glutes would look better, too.

Of course, this also happens in Malaysia. Sometimes it's worse, you get teenagers giggling and taking up the entire walk path and they're walking at a pace of 1 step per eternity. Don't get me started with the Middle Easterners who are here. They are absolutely the worst. They can see you coming a mile way yet they still contrive to either block your path or walk right into you. Yes, I know your country spoils you rotten as hell but when you're abroad and on someone's turf you show some respect. All that oil will run out and you will be left with sand and mega buildings with the only inhabitants being cockroaches. Wait, that's the same thing. Nevermind.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Anyway, the idiots in Singapore couldn't tarnish the wonderfulness of the trip. Singapore maybe the most artificial country I've been thus far but it's the best artificial country. Kudos to kiasunism!

The beginning of the end?

This could be the beginning of the end, folks.

Or, it could not be.

Stay beautiful, beautiful people.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. I have a craving for ice-cream.

Happy 2nd Valentine's Day to the bestest in the world.

I love you.


This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Wayne Rooney, what a goal.

Me man, you woman. We all idiot.

Men drive better than women.

There, I've said it. It's the most commonly uttered sexist remark that will illicit chortles of derisive sniggers from men and bra-burning pickets of consternation from women. Yet, it's also somewhat universally agreed.

Recently, a scandal erupted from the good ole country of England that brought men and women together, vilifying respected gentlemen over a horrific sexist remark mentioned in broad daylight. (Apparently, if it's pitch black nobody notices.)

The offence: two middle-aged men, were surreptitiously recorded by a dastardly being, say to each other that the female linesman (yes, I know it's a misnomer) could do well with a little education. Nope, not a tertiary course in baking, but in football lore. Those in the footballing circle swiftly condemned the offenders, branding their remarks as from the Stone Age, totally unacceptable in today's climate that is striving for egalitarian societies where both genders (and those in-between) can prosper in harmony and sip on margaritas on a sunny day.

In short, they were pilloried for being men.

It wasn't the first time such comments were spewed forth from their mouths. In fact, more evidence has surfaced that it has happened before. Here's the thing: it was said in a private, tête-à-tête environment, expressed off-air with no intention of it making its way into the public's ears. Does that make it less bad? Of course not. However, they were framed. Caught in the act. Somebody must have received a really bad Christmas pudding from either of them or both to unleash the career-killer recordings.

Yet, when women call us men Neanderthals we have to accept it lest we be branded something worse. (I've thought of what is worse than Neanderthals but none come to mind.) Do I agree with what they said? Tough one. If the linesman was a male, the two men would've called him something accordingly but since it was a female the comments were so. Heck, if I had gone over to the local coffee shop I would've heard the same thing, in several languages at once, even.

We are inherently racist and having sexist thoughts come together to form an ugly side of humanity. In the office, if the pretty girl you work with gets the promotion you've been after you would probably comment on her gender. Your friends would do the same. The same goes the other way. The mind will pick the gender and then the race thus a volley of an obscene kind gets hurtled out from the mouth.

Raise your hand if you've not even thought of a sexist-based comment. Thought so.

Of course I knew you'd say that. I am man, after all.

This is manly Chris, signing off. 

P.S. It may come across that I am defending the two geezers. Yes, I am. Not their remarks but the fact that they have been criminalised because of their private affairs by people with grudges against them. Would you be happy if someone records your words?

The Green Hornet

30 days into the new year and we already have a winner.

The winner of the Worst Movie award of 2011.

Seth Rogen's The Green Hornet is put simply, absolute trash. I had absolutely no expectations for this movie at all. My reluctance to watch at first stemmed from two reasons: Seth Rogen and Jay Chou. In the end, I was vindicated categorically for the former while pleasantly surprised and was coloured impressed by the latter. Only the most infinitesimal of reasons why I would pay for the movie tickets was because of Christoph 'The Inglorius Basterd' Waltz. Ever since he terrorised Brad Pitt and co in four different languages, I thought, this can't be that bad.

It wasn't bad. It was an abomination.

Dialogue and how its presented don't really bother me all that much, truth be told, when it comes to the movies I watch. If I'm going to watch a movie where the nature of its story and its dialogue are the key to the success of it, then, I would pay attention. After all, you don't watch Daniel Day-Lewis and expect him to spew obscenities in an American accent now, do you? I genuinely thought that the dialogue in this "reimagined" Green Hornet would be decent. Instead, all I hear from the increasingly, excruciatingly noxious Rogen are: "shit", "bitch", "Yo", and "SHIT!" The dialogue of his and one Evan Goldberg resembles that of chatters of 12-year-old boys who've discovered porn for the first time and are wondering why their little brothers down there are all a tingle. I cannot fathom the person's rationale, or rather, sanity, when giving the final green (pun intended tremendously) light to this atrocity. The script reeks of juvenile meanderings, where big booms and silly jokes try to mask its soulless existence. I wish I could describe further but doing so would make me more livid so I'll leave it with this:

Even my 6-year-old cousin speaks more sense than the entire movie.

The story is simple and follows a very linear path and I will try to summarise it as best as I can because I'm getting of weary remembering this anathema of the year. Rogen's character, Brit Reid, has just lost his father due to a fatal bee sting. He inherits the father's newspaper empire but as we are educated right at the beginning of the movie is that Brit is a curly-haired yob with a penchant for toy figurines. Brit is a toothless, smarmy, incorrigible, imbecile that spends his days bumming around his father's palace of a home so when he's entrusted with running the newspaper, he flees like the dingbat he is. After befriending, Kato, played by a rather good Jay Chou, they both bond together over seemingly nothing at all and start their misguided heroic adventures. Soon, they make a name for themselves and keep on their shenanigans with Brit instructing his newspaper team to run stories of the Green Hornet. We are are then introduced a dry-looking yet still ditzy Cameron Diaz whose character's name eludes me now so I'll just call her Chesire Cat who is hired as the personal assistant to Brit. Brit tells her to ramp up the notoriety of the Green Hornet to spur his obsessive compulsive behaviour of stroking his own balls. Of course, the self-proclaimed gangsta of all gangstas is none other than Waltz himself, playing Chudnofsky with the same look and expressions as his dastardly portrayal of Col. Hans Landa but none of the panache. This is probably due to the aforesaid twaddle of a script. In the end, there's the inevitable showdown where after nearly 2 hours is revealed and my hatred is complete. Any surprises? No. Was I willing to tear down the cinema with my bare hands? You bet.

Swimming in the sea of movideom dross, it was left to the Asian to somehow keep this fast sinking sampan afloat, Jay 'My smile and scowl are one' Chou, playing Kato, made famous by a certain Bruce Lee. Even with his haltering command of English, he at least saved some dignity to proceedings. He was actually likeable albeit with a scowl thicker than miso soup.

I want to believe that Rogen wanted to pay homage to this somewhat forgotten title but to do it in the manner he did, is not only besmirching its legacy, it leaves a terribly awful taste in the choices of Hollywood these days. I cannot in good faith recommend this if you view dialogue and script in slight regard.

Seth Rogen, grow up.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Happy Chinese New Year to all. Have a great one.

Taking a break from blogging...

So here's a rather fetching picture of a rather splendid team:

Enjoy the week, people.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. I really have nothing in mind this week. Not even a tiny morsel of an idea. Am I getting old?

You talking to me? Wait, now I see your message.

Lunch time is sanctimonious. When the clock strikes 12 it also strikes the tummy. Pangs of hunger start to bang on the sides of your stomach causing you to click on the Send button of your work's email program. Thankfully, you've taken out your boss's email address just before the accident. Explaining to him why things transpired the way they did during his absence would just be a killjoy.

Scores of hungry buggers start to stream out of their respective office. All of them thinking of where to gorge themselves silly on carbs and wonder why they feel so darn sleepy by 2pm. While waiting for the food to arrive everyone starts whipping out their phones. One would be checking the stock market, another would be loading up Angry Birds while another pair would compare versions and what they can do with jailbreak software. And there is me. Waiting for the food. Looking at other tables and noticing the same thing. People on their phones. People not talking to each other. They only time they do is when they want ketchup.

What happened to good old gossip? What about the news that the receptionist is actually a man? Have we sacrificed being gregarious by swapping communicating with one another by peering intently into a 3" screen? I find it rude that you start playing a game right in front of me and others when you could actually have decent conversations. Maybe it's because I don't have one of them phones that can allow you to be on an IM or surf the Internet so I can't do the same. But when I'm with people, especially people I work with, I want to have chats. They can be about anything at all. It doesn't matter what the topic is as long as there are voices in the air and not the clickity-clickity sounds of the onboard keypad.

So next time you whip out your phone, please, spare a thought to that someone who doesn't have the phone to check his emails. Just don't send him an instant message.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Blog posts will be a bit short till further notice. This is because I've rediscovered the joys of gaming. Tee hee.

Death Penalty - It's the right thing to use.

I am, by all accounts, a misanthrope.

Going to work at 0600, I curse at all the silly drivers. I get into the train I curse at all the idiots who make a mad dash thinking their little spring will propel them into the coach but instead end up getting crush in between the doors.Whenever I see idiocy I call it out. People would say, why do you care? The truth is:

I don't.

So why do I still make a fuss? It's something inbred in me. Can't change, but I want to. Sometimes I wish physical pain be inflicted on the imbeciles who cross my path. Is it a good trait? Of course not. However, as part of an ongoing mission to be a better human being I now count to 1 (tried going up to 3 but I lost patience), take a deep breath and sigh. Walking away is the prefered choice these days. I am giving my all to be a better person, hoping to eradicate the bad attributes that attached themselves onto my psyche. But there's one that will probably stay with me infinitely.

I support the death penalty.

Raping of minors/elderly. Mass murder. These two, two me, are the unpardonable sins of humankind. What reason could the perpetrators give that would exonerate them? None. Why should these monsters be put in a cell, wasting taxpayer's money and space, when a needle will settle the score? Killing is wrong according to this here site. They have some salient points but they're all applicable to cases where there's a lot of circumstantial evidence and where the benefit of doubt can cloud judgement. I am for the death penalty for cases where there is 100% certainty he/she committed the atrocity.

The punishment should fit the crime, so goes the adage. I wholeheartedly concur.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Further to the post above, I believe you know what I would do to the assailant.

2011. The year of rabbit heads, bigger guns and a potentially new environment.

Happy New Year, everyone! Yes, 2010 is a now a distant memory.

What was supposed to be a grand celebration turned out to be as exciting as watching a limpid soufflé rise. 2011 arrived in a whimper. Besides the pretty firework display, the other bang came with our buck as a feast fit for 10 was charged between 4.

All in all, this was me and my buds preferred choice to usher in 2011.

I've always had resolutions but they never had MUST-DO attached to it. I reckon that if I had done so I would be buggered madly if didn't achieve them. So they're there and I will do my best to fulfil them. Therefore, without any more ado, here they are in no particular order:

• Re-evaluate my career's progression. I have a sneaky suspicion a most radical outcome will be achieved this year. Watch this space.
• Backing off on the heavy weights. While I will want to continue and see if I can get a 150kg deadlift single by mid-year, I want to incorporate a cooling period where lighter weights with higher repetitions are employed. This is to preserve the body as heavy loads tax the central nervous system greatly and in due course gravity may even bring me 'down'.
• Spending my money wisely. 2010 was a wallet-busting year. I tend to go on shopping blitzes and that's when my credit card will see a lot of action. This year I will rein in as much as I can, purchasing goods only when deemed necessary.
• Short temper needs a kick in the arse.

Reading the latest from Anthony Bourdain (look to your right for the book's title) and a few chapters in he mentions that he thought he was the Big Daddy. He readily admits he wasn't. While he could have gone into working at highly prestigious kitchens and work with great chefs, instead, he chose to work at third- or fourth- tier establishments. It's funny that it's because of his 'poor' choices that now he is famous. One can never know for certain if a move in career is going to be the best or worst decision. This brings me nicely to the last resolution:

• Take big risks.

2011 promises to be a big year. Let's see if it does. Good luck to you, too.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Work resumes tomorrow. The wheel turns again. Fuck.